


New Beginnings

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Series: Spirit of the Occasion [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie and James see in the new year together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a follow-on, because I couldn't help myself!
> 
> Happy New Year to you all (:

With a pint of bitter in one hand and a glass of white in the other, Lewis turns from the bar only to stop when he catches sight of James across the room, sprawled in the little booth they had commandeered, watching the band playing on the little stage.

He still can’t quite believe they are here. Not here, sharing a drink in the lounge of a hotel – they’ve done that kind of thing often enough. No, _here_ , with James, in the metaphorical sense.

It has been barely a fortnight since the Christmas party, not much more than two weeks since James had encouraged him to acknowledge that which he had been trying to ignore, not even daring to name. And to think, he hadn’t even considered that James might be harbouring the same feelings. Some detective he is.

James looks happy, reclining on the bench with one ankle propped up on the opposite knee, arm stretched along the back of the seat. Dressed in jeans, an old t-shirt proclaiming the name of an obscure band, and with his short hair gelled into messy but apparently stylish spikes, he looks nothing like a policeman and incredibly young.

A brief flare of fear flickers through Lewis; surely the lad would come to his senses soon, recognize the vast differences between them and realize that he had made a mistake?

James seems to sense Lewis’s scrutiny, for he turns his head, his gaze immediately finding Lewis’s. The latent ability for mind-reading the bloke shows sometimes has apparently been temporarily switched off for he doesn’t pick up on Lewis’s sudden attack of insecurity. Instead, he smiles brightly and Lewis’s doubts flee.

It had been James, after all, who had sought him out after he slipped out of the party early, James who had gently urged him to stop ignoring what he felt when he must have been equally as nervous.

And it had been James who had proposed this trip when Lewis would have been quite happy to spend the New Year at home in front of the telly. But James had pointed out that they shouldn’t waste the two days leave they had been granted as recompense for being on rotation over Christmas. Lewis had been a little dubious at first about the suggestion of attending a small gig in a London hotel by one of these folksy bands James loved but Lewis had never heard of, but the lad’s enthusiasm had quickly won him over.

The grin is infectious; Lewis feels a mirroring expression forming on his own face as he finally moves away from the bar and slides back into the booth beside James, passing him the glass of wine. James’s fingers linger on his for longer than should be strictly necessary, but Lewis is in no hurry to relinquish the contact either. Although his attention remains on the band, James is still instinctively aware of the man beside him, shifting his slouch sideways a little so he is leaning into Lewis’s shoulder and unfolding his leg and placing his foot back on the floor so his knee presses against Lewis’s. 

James has always been tactile with him, and Lewis had to admit that he had noticed the lad didn’t act the same around most other people. Now, there’s no reason to keep things platonic, and James has naturally fallen to taking full advantage of this at every given opportunity while remaining mindful of the fact that Lewis isn’t a man given to public displays of affection.

But here, sequestered in their booth with the lounge’s lights dimmed so as to make the musicians the room’s focus, Lewis is happy to enjoy being close to James while the lad enjoys the entertainment. He hadn’t realized how much he has missed such simple affection.

In the brief lull between one song fading out and the next beginning, James tilts his head, bringing his lips close to Lewis’s ear.

“You’re not hating this, are you?”

“No, man, don’t be daft. They’re perfectly…bearable.” The music is not too dissimilar to that played by James and his band, which Lewis has come to appreciate over the years, so he is being honest even if he can’t resist the opportunity to make a little lighthearted dig.

James pouts even though he knows Lewis is only joking, and Lewis rolls his eyes at the melodramatics. Then, with a sincere smile, he takes hold of James’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m having a brilliant time, pet. Honestly.”

“Good.” James rests his head on Lewis’s shoulder and they stay like that until the current song draws to an end. This time, the musicians don’t launch into another number; instead, as more lights are switched on in the room, the lead vocalist – or whatever the accepted term might be for the singer these days – steps up to the microphone and addresses the audience with a smile.

“We’re going to take a short break now to welcome in the New Year.”

One of the hotel staff has switched on the television above the bar, tuned to BBC One. On screen, a couple of vaguely familiar faces that he can't put names to mingle amongst the crowds lining the Thames, the Eye, ablaze with spotlights, arcing into the sky behind them; a little clock in the corner of the screen gives the time: _11:55_.

Suddenly, James is on his feet, tugging at Lewis’s arm. “Come on,” he urges when Lewis doesn’t immediately move.

Lewis looks up at him in confusion and the expression of determined insistence he sees has him rising to his feet despite his incomprehension.

James steers him out of the lounge and straight to the stairs that lead up to the rooms above.

“They’re about to do the countdown,” Lewis protests as he stumbles after James, still utterly perplexed.

“We can do our own countdown, if you like,” James assures him, not slowing his pace.

“Slow down, man. Me knees aren’t getting any younger.”

James ignores him this time, grasping his hand and pulling him up to the door of their room. In an impressive display of dexterity, James gets the door open and them both inside without releasing his grip on Lewis’s hand. Without pausing, he leads Lewis to the French windows that open onto a little balcony.

Finally letting Lewis go, James pulls open the doors and ushers him outside. The sudden shock of the cold air after the warmth of the hotel’s interior makes Lewis gasp, but James doesn’t stop until they are stood at the rail.

“It’s bloody freezing out here,” Lewis complains, rather unnecessarily.

He feels arms wrap around him from behind and a warm body press against his back. James’s chin comes down to rest on his shoulder.

“I’ll keep you warm.”

Lewis has no complaints about that solution and leans back slightly into the embrace, against the sturdy support of a firm chest, and laces his fingers with James’s. They stand that way, looking out over a hazy London skyline, for a couple of minutes, breath fogging in the chilly air, when Lewis speaks again.

“What are we doing?” James’s sole purpose seems to be to turn him into an icicle.

James gives him a gentle squeeze in admonishment. “Just wait,” he instructs softly in Lewis’s ear.

Lewis sighs, but it’s with a smile on his face. He is the one person who is able to read James where others struggle to see past the inscrutable mask he usually wears. It had happened slowly, over time, as they worked so closely with one another, and now he is close to being an expert at picking up on the little nuances that give away James’s inner thoughts and emotions.

But for all that, the man is still able to remain infuriatingly mysterious at times – something that Lewis finds he can’t begrudge him. That’s just…James.

If it hadn’t been for the winter chill, Lewis would have been happy to stand there on the little balcony for as long as James wanted, but, despite their shared body warmth, it isn’t long before he can no longer suppress the shivering that takes hold of his muscles.

Just as he is about to open his mouth to declare that he is probably in imminent danger of contracting hypothermia, he hears voices drifting up toward them, chanting together in a countdown. It must be the assembled crowd they had left behind, audible through a few cracked-open windows in the lounge below them.

As the count reaches five, James joins in, his voice soft beside Lewis’s ear, remembering his promise that they could still have a countdown.

“Five…four…three…two…one…”

There is a pause; a silence descends on London as if the city itself is holding its breath, awaiting the intangible arrival of the new year. But the hush lasts only the length of a heartbeat before it is broken as the sky ignites with a bright bloom of red stars, blossoming then falling with a staccato crackle.

And suddenly the night is ablaze with colour and sound as more fireworks erupt, a spectacular, strobing display that chases away the grey midnight shadows lurking amidst the muted sodium glow of the city and fills the air with a cacophony of whistles and cracks. From where they stand, any view they might have had of the Eye or the Houses of Parliament is obscured by the intervening buildings, and Lewis wonders how James had known they would be facing the right direction. Had he planned it that way, or realized afterwards?

Either way, the thought touches Lewis. Even if it is bloody freezing.

Lewis is still distracted by the show when he feels himself turned in James’s arms until they are facing each other. He just has time to catch the radiant smile on James’s face before he is drawn into a kiss.

Yielding willingly to the pressure of James’s tongue, Lewis slides his hands onto James’s hips and pulls him closer, the cold no longer bothering him in the slightest.

When they part, James steps back a little, just enough to meet Lewis’s gaze.

“Happy New Year, Robbie.”

It still sounds strange, hearing his name from James’s lips, but it immediately brings a smile to his face. Lewis wants to tell James how much he feels honoured by, _humbled_ by his desire to share this, to share _everything_ with him, but can’t find the words to articulate his thoughts. James would likely have been able to do so, but Lewis knows actions can be just as eloquent as words; he raises a hand, placing his palm against James’s cheek, his thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

“To new beginnings, eh?”

James leans into the touch, his blond hair highlighted by alternating flashes of colour, his smile declaring that similar thoughts are running through his own mind. Then he covers Lewis’s hand with his own to hold it in place as he turns his head and places a kiss to Lewis’s palm.

“New beginnings,” he agrees.

Lewis captures James’s fingers with his own, entwining them, linking them. He feels a shiver pass through James’s arm; the lad’s hand is just as cold as his own, and they are both now finding it difficult to contain the effects of the chilly air.

“This was…Thank you, James.” The gratitude is heartfelt, and encompasses so much more than just the impromptu firework display but Lewis is still unable to express himself in the way he wants to. The slight nod James gives, however, tells Lewis he had been understood. “But can we go back inside now before I freeze me bollocks off?”

The briefest smile flickers across James’s face before his gaze fills with exaggerated concern. “We wouldn’t want that,” he intones gravely and Lewis would have sworn he detected a playful glint in the bloke’s eye that wasn’t a product of the glittering fireworks. “Best get you warmed up…”

Lewis is gently drawn backwards, back inside the room, James’s arms folding around him, and he already feels warmer.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points if you noticed the word count.  
> It was a partial accident!


End file.
